we tunnel out / of the blacklick woods,  half apple / throated   &   sneaker
slick. if there was a word    for the opposite   of grief / it would be    swing
set. it would be  an emergency / of deer.        or maybe it would be    a joke
about how  i am difficult  to love / only because i spend        so much time
thinking about how difficult i am to love. / in the backseat    the little dog’s
eyes pitch to the roof, like quarters lost / in a rainy  parking lot /    face up
& hopeful / asking    for their mother,   the moon. /    the swans are gone
here’s a spoon.    please   come again soon /sing        into the   Tupperware
i’ll keep you/ cool   let’s eat leftovers     in the shower /     folded together
like wet paper / &  we become  pearl pink  prescriptions /     carbon copies
& useless receipts/ thirst is touch /                              let’s get carried away

Alyssa Froehling grew up outside of Chicago, Illinois. She is currently an MFA candidate in poetry at The Ohio State University and poetry editor of The Journal. Her poems can be found in the Mid-American Review, Radar Poetry, juked, and F(r)iction, where she won the Tethered by Letters 2017 spring poetry contest judged by Maggie Smith. She lives in Columbus, Ohio with her dog.